Emerald (Great Gatsby)
by ibizababy
Summary: Josefina DeLuca, a young woman working in East Egg of a Nick Carraway at her late night job at a speakeasy. With two jobs that barely keep her from returning home to Louisiana and a number of failed attempts of gaining the stardom she's always wanted, life has gone from living to simply existing. That is, until Nick invites her to the party hosted by the familiar name of Gatsby.
1. Chapter 1

It was nearly 1918 by the time I got here. Louisiana was a desert in Winter, but Long Island was a tundra. My mother encouraged me to pack my bags, but my father was less than proud when I did. I used to think subconsciously they favored my sisters more than me, the one of four that always was ready to be in the right place at the wrong time. My mother named me Josefina after my great grandmother, and I'd always loathed it. My sisters got the beautiful names Hazel, Rose, and Alice. I remember I even found a distaste in the way it was written on my name-pin that I had to wear every day of the week to work at the tailor shop shoved between a barber and a bank that could give in any day now.

Present day October of 1922, I'm still sitting in this little shop that is taking its time to fill my pocket and forces me to keep my eyes open until the dark of night when I must race across town to my second pay that is about as close to my ambition as it gets. First I am stitching the wounds of a shirt of a man who probably didn't much have to work for its fine cotton, and then I continue to serve the upper class in a speakeasy singing songs everyone knows are the usuals. Life was fine and busy until the day of Halloween when I retreated home early for a change of apparel, taking the filthy train with a usual who always made eyes at me much to my discomfort. I took my step off just at the apartments before the entry of the bridge headed for the Valley of Ashes as I hustle my way up the steps and straight to my room on the highest floor above a café and desolate little grocery outlet. I hardly put the key into the golden lock of my chipping door before my sisters appeared as if by a puff of smoke at my side. "Josie!" they took turns saying as they gripped my face, kissing my cheek or hugging my abdomen with abnormal strength. "You never gave me a call, I would have cleaned up-" I didn't have a chance to finish my sentence before I was practically forced through the door of my little apartment and into the cushion of my sofa. "Oh, Josie, it doesn't matter. We have something urgent to say!" Rose, the oldest, claimed. "Mama's passed," Hazel said. A sinking feeling set in my chest as I lowered my weight into the small couch, a frown stitched on my face. "What?" I mumbled. "Papa was with her, we didn't get to see her," Alice then broke in. "But there's a will-" "Our mother just died and you want to talk about a will?" I interrupted Rose. Rose shut her mouth as I got to my feet, seeing the way my eyes began to glaze over.

"With you three it's always about the money. Do you know what our father would say if he heard you?" I snapped. "Papa gets half, and so do we, Josefina. With your condition living out here alone you need it!" Rose retorted. "You're not even the slightest bit upset?" I asked. "We are, Josie. Honest. And as morbid as it sounds...mama's passing means we can have better lives! Grams' inheritance goes to us. Papa was supposed to come tell you all this, but...he's still angry," Hazel added. I looked at my feet and then out the window, trying not to think of the angry faces my father made at me out the window of our sad, old country house just before I left for the train station. He never wrote or called me on the telephone. He was upset and now that mother was gone...so is the last place I was getting my courage from. "Let him be angry, Rose is his pride and joy anyhow," I muttered as I began to grab my clothes from the wardrobe just on the inside of my bedroom as I picked the sweet, golden-colored dress I always wore working on a holiday. "Josie, please don't be upset!" Alice begged me. I shook my head as I changed in front of the mirror and swiftly put my thick and relentless head of curls in a messy updo. "I have work," I replied gruffly as I march toward the door, not wanting them to see me cry for my mother. "Josefina!" Rose snapped. I turn to her at the door. "Rose, I love the lot of you despite your ignorance. But I can't afford to disappoint her. Have fun with your money, I'm going to earn mine like she wishes of me!" I give as a goodbye, slamming the door on my way out.

The barber shop is crowded with gentlemen tonight, all of which know me by name from the speakeasy just beyond a full-size mirror that Mr. McGinley sits at. Prohibition laws are lost and the joy of the bull market are rejoiced behind the stone wall of the concealed tavern, "the Secret," as I pass the bouncer with a polite hello. I adjust my messy and uncontrollable curls as I put in my time card behind the bar counter.

The Follies are dancing and men are roaring drunk as they call me and smile at my presence. I know a few of the regulars who will sometimes give me rides to and from the shop to the Secret, or treat me to a drink after I've done my job of being the lounge singer. It doesn't pay much, but at least I'm in reach of all I've ever wanted. It's typical for one in my position to pray one day someone walks through these doors and hears the lounge singer's voice pleading her to let them take her to something more. I haven't had thoughts like those in a year. Now I'm just a lone wolf simply existing in Long Island. I wave to the bouncer in the very back to turn on the circuit of the mic as I get up on the platform I will spend the next two hours on taking requests and earning what I'm apparently worth. I hear the band play upon my appearance as I smile when I see half my audience clap in recognition of me.

My favorite part of the night has begun as my voice stretches and echoes to the ears of indecent dancing Follies and dancing ladies and gentlemen. I watch people file in from time to time from the overhead entrance that gives the cascading staircase down onto the floors of the speakeasy. I wink and I wave my fingers at the men blowing me kisses and some women who very much don't want the night to end. And then I look up and see a boy looking at me. A boy? A man? Maybe just a man with a boy's face. He doesn't quite seem to know where to go as he removes his Coney Island hat, smiling at the scene as a second man guides him down the staircase roughly gesturing to me and talking although I try to ignore it. I know the man's friend because it's the very one who makes eyes at me on the train I take going job to job at times.

He's picking up where he left off for that matter with those rough eyes that older men get when their head is as big as their stomachs. I keep doing what I'm doing even so.

From six to eight my voice was lent in celebration of the infamous Halloween before I stepped down from my platform, immediately having a drink held in my face. It was none other than my train stranger. "With a voice like that, why aren't you workin' someplace better?" he asked me. I sighed, trying to be polite as I answer, "Believe me I'm trying, excuse me-" "Tom Buchanan," he said, suddenly taking my hand as he kissed it. I nodded. "Hello Tom. I'm going to go take a seat with the bartender if you'll-" "Nick! Get your rear over here!" Tom's loud call interrupted me once more. I watched as the stranger I'd noticed before wandered over with Tom putting a strong arm around his shoulders. "I've been coming for a year to this speakeasy every Friday night just to hear this girl sing and just get a glance at the face capturing a generation's attention. Surely you have a request, I'm sure she doesn't mind," Tom said. "Nick Carraway," the stranger said, extending his hand.

I shake it gently, trying not to squeeze with the amount of irritation Tom was feeding me. "Nick is a writer, not a good one, but a writer!" Tom filled in. "Impressive Nick. I wonder, do you work in the building across from the little tailor shop I work in?" I ask once getting a better glimpse at his face. "I work across from Aunt Regina's, yes!" Nick replies. "Well, you'll let me have the honor of a visit when you need it most then?" I smiled. "I'll do the same," Tom jumped in as he eyed me. I saw the look in Nick's eyes as he slowly looked at Tom whom I took notice of as being a man with a ring on his finger. I say goodbye before Tom can invite me to more than just the one drink, but I see Nick follows me still. "I'm sorry. My friend is a bit of a pest sometimes," he says above the music and loud, competing voices. "It's alright, he's not the first one," I chuckle as I lean on the bar counter. "I have a question!" he begins, "You work in East Egg but I notice your shop does a lot of business in West Egg. Do you know a man named Gatsby?" I turn my head to him in surprise. "Gatsby? I wouldn't think so. But I have heard the name," I reply.

"Have you ever been invited? To his parties?" "No, I stay down in East Egg most of the time. It's my superior that does the business in West Egg. Why do you ask?" "I hear he leaves the celebration up to the public, but...I was invited. Personally," Nick went on in confusion. I tilted my head. "How very strange. I've never been to one. But the fireworks I can see from across the Sound," I tell him. "Well. You should come. I'm Gatsby's neighbor, I'm sure I have the ability to bring a guest," Nick then says. I smile slightly. "Well I- I'd love to, Nick, but I might be working that night," I sighed. "Well. You'll think about it," Nick says. I nod as I watch him tip his cap to me and walk off to find his friend Tom.


	2. Chapter 2

I told Nick the next day at the tailor shop I was fine with taking the train. I took his invite as a way to let off frustrations from all the work I've done lately. I'd even taken extra late night hours to work off the last of my month's rent. "Nonsense, I wouldn't mind coming to get you," Nick tells me. I laugh as I push a piece of tangled hair away from my eyes as I sew together the last of a rip in a woman's delicate shawl. "Nick, it's alright! I'll meet you at your house. Like you said," I smile. I push his mended clothes toward him over the counter as I continued my work. Before he could take out his wallet, I pushed his hand away, putting a finger to my lips. I shook my head as I smiled at him. We both glanced my employer, Mrs. Regina, as she spoke to woman across the shop. "It's our secret," I laugh quietly to him as I set aside the turquoise shawl and shove his clothes into his chest. He smiles hesitantly and tips his boater hat to me as I push my long braid over my shoulder and watch him go. "We'll have a grand time, I promise," he tells me as he backs out the door and onto the busy sidewalk. I finished up my work as I fold the shawl gently and place it in a cotton bag for the young woman speaking to Mrs. Regina. "Ms. Juniper," I say quietly as she hands me her customer description and I pass her her glamorous shawl.  
"I think you have a dress here, as well, don't you?" Mrs. Regina asks her. "Oh, that old thing?" Ms. Juniper began in a tightly wound voice. She was a common, wealthy patron of our shop; I recognized her time to time especially by the ring of her speech. "You can cut it up and make rags of it for all I care. It's Summer now, no need for a Spring ensemble," she finishes with a whip of her head that sends her crystal dangling earrings into a vicious sway. I nodded gently as Mrs. Regina gestures for me to go throw it out per the lady's request. I went to the back and it was easy to hear the bustle of the city street from the open back door where Mrs. Regina's cat, Jolly, spent his days sun bathing in the back alley's perfect spot in the sun. I find the corresponding dress baggage that meets the numbers of the customer description number and take it out of its bag to perhaps give Jolly a new sunning bed. The dress was gorgeous. A creme color with little pearls sewn in; it's not a normal style you can find in a shop window or that you purchase at any little store in general. It's hand stitched and falls to the my knees in Belgian lace with fringe at its end. It would fit perfectly. I look around to see if Mrs. Regina is looking like always.

What am I doing? Stealing a dress? But Ms. Juniper doesn't want it anymore. Does she? What if she asks about it? She won't. All my thinking forces me to thrash it into my large clutch that barely closes even when I've folded it carefully. I look and see Jolly sitting on the box that crowd the sewing machine just by the back entrance of the shop. He's not quite the daintiest cat in the world, but his perfect midnight coat and striking amber eyes win me over like nothing else. "Don't you look at my like that. It's another man's gain from another man's loss, that's all," I whisper to him as I feel him force the top of his head into my hand, expecting a brief scratch behind the ears.

I put the dress on at home, the fit was perfect. My hair was in large curls and I let them hang in shining spirals. I've had friends tell me I should cut it, turn it into a short do that says "wealth" with every brief lock. But my mother said if I were to cut it she'd be heartbroken. I swore I'd never cut it again. Putting on nude T-strap kitten heels I wait for the clock to strike six, where I'd be headed for west Egg and Nick. I clutch my mother's strand of pearls around my neck as I begin the short journey to the train, that takes me straight into West Egg and all its glory. Lights are bright and cars are roaring. I can see two girls dancing in their car as I walk out to the street from the train stop stairs. Nick's house shouldn't be far from the Second Street. I follow my instincts instead of a map as I'm able to direct myself toward the edges of the Sound, where the grass grows greener and the houses grow bigger. It's hard not to hear the boom of a band and the gossip of people flying through the gates of the gigantic mansion next door as I knock on Nick's door. Nick is immediately there as he smiles. "Hello Nick," I smile. "Shall we?" he smiles, sticking out his arm, "Perhaps you'll get to meet a friend of mine tonight."

We walk to the Gatsby mansion that just makes me feel like I'm in a book even by standing on just the front lawn. I go with Nick through the doors of the home, where women and men are drunk and there are entertainers flying about. I don't know what to do with myself. "This is incredible," I say to Nick. "I should find Gatsby and thank him for the invite," he tells me. I nod as I look around, a waiter immediately shoving a drink in my hand. I look back at the alcoholic poison as I swallow and pass it to Nick. "I don't drink," I tell him, to ease his confusion. It isn't long before I lose Nick in a crowd, calling out for him until I end up on the balcony overlooking the backyard area, and I'm speechless. Streamers fly, women and men dance like its the last they ever will. Drunks are everywhere as if this was the Secret, and wold famous actresses and artists brush past me that I never thought I'd actually see with my own eyes. I look around for Nick, but it's truly hard to see his shining black hair or small form in the midst of a million gyrating bodies. "Nick?" I begin to call. I have to call his name several times before a tall woman approaches me. "Nick? Nick Carraway?" she asks. "Yes, I'm looking for Nick," I tell her. I turn to look at her fully and I try not to display any sort of surprise. "Jordan Baker? You know Nick?" I recognize. Jordan Baker, a slim woman of at least six feet and shining black hair smiles at me as she looks over the balcony. "Nick has gone to find Gatsby. Are you his sister, perhaps?" she asks. I shake my head. "No, I met him at my job just the previous night. I'm afraid I don't know anyone else here," I tell her. She gestures for me to walk down the steps with her as she looks me over.

"You're job...wait. I know you. You're the girl from the Secret," Jordan revels as she turns to me suddenly on the last step. "Yes, that's me," I blush as I look at her slightly. "Maybe you'll sing something for us later. I get sick of all these familiar faces that perform. They need something raw," she replies as she gestures to the crowd of people. I fix my hair as I look around. "Where do you think he is? Nick?" I ask. "Well, I don't know. When he realizes no one has ever actually seen this Gatsby. Lots of rumors fly around about him. Some think he once killed a man, you know," she stated. I tilted my head. "Well if they're rumors, perhaps none are true," I say. "We won't know for sure," she says into her cigarette. I watch Nick as he suddenly appears. "Nick what is wrong with you, leaving a girl by her lonesome," Jordan says as she gestures to me. "I haven't found him, so i decided to have a few drinks," Nick tells us as he sets aside his empty martini glass. "Let's wait until the end of the party," I suggest. It's too late.

Nick is drunk and I can tell he can't quite keep his mind together, he grabs Jordan's arm and off they go to dance as confetti continues to fall. I shake my head as I begin to go back inside when I get to the top of the steps. I stop midstep upon the glimmer of a ringed hand sitting on the balcony railing of fine pillars. A man stood just in front of me, dirty blonde hair and a black suit and bowtie. He's drinking champagne, and his colored eyes are set on the dancing crowd. My breath hitches as his head begins to turn and I quickly dive inside. It couldn't be. It's not that great of a coincidence is it? I can't see for the slightest second as I grip the wall inside, a wave of surprise rushing over me as I breathe, "Gatsby."


	3. Chapter 3

I couldn't gather my thoughts, or come up with an answer for the possible mirage I'd seen. It's not the same one. It can't be the same Gatsby. It's not, it's not... I clung to Nick and Jordan most of the party, trying not to look back up at the stairway of the backyard. I kept my head down as I began to dance with a man Jordan introduced me to. "I wouldn't know his first name. But I do know he's gained some notoriety for these parties. He deserves it, don't you think?" the man conversed with me. I nod politely as I look around at the people who continued to dance, and some who were being dragged from the party by tired, working husbands. "Should we go for a walk in the gardens? It's quiet," he suddenly says. "I think I'm going to find Nick," I say, gently letting go of my possibly drunk company and going to search out my acquaintance. It's not hard to spot him hobbling up the staircase, when Gatsby stops him. My breath hitches, when I realize this is no longer in my mind. It's the heart I knew, and the same man carrying it. I turn from the staircase as I try not to become noticed, but Jordan seems to already know the back of my head better than anyone else. "I see you down there. Come up here!" she calls. I feel my lung cloud with fear and my breathing feels like a thousand needles scratching against my throat. I slowly turn, but I keep my gaze at the steps until I reach the step beside Jordan. "This is Mr. Gatsby. Mr. Gatsby this is the entertainment I told you about," Jordan introduced. I slowly face Mr. Gatsby, my anxious green eyes meeting his perfect blue crystals as I watch his grin turn into a nervously curious gaze. "I'm sorry...have we met before, miss-" "Jacqueline," I interrupt. I see Nick and Jordan look at me, bewildered. "No, we haven't. I'm- I'm new to Long Island," I stutter. He nods as he smiles once again, slowly kissing my hand. I warm up inside, even if I'm out here wandered in fifty degrees amongst illegally inebriated souls. "Miss Baker and Mr. Carraway tell me you work at the Secret. I have never seen you perform there. Let me treat you to a lunch there, Old Sport. We can see for ourselves," Gatsby says as he shifts his attention to Nick. "Oh no, that's quite alright. I'm not a fan of-" "Well, if you want to hear her sing hire her for your next party," Jordan suggests bluntly. "Oh, no. I wouldn't-" "Splendid idea. How much would you work for, how is four thousand?" Mr. Gatsby imposes as he turns to me. I chuckle nervously as I shake my head. "No, I couldn't ask you to pay me for something that small," I say sheepishly. "Nonsense, I'd be delighted. My next party is just this coming Friday," Mr. Gatsby insists. I sigh as I look at Nick who nods to me encouragingly. "I guess I shouldn't refuse," I say quietly. Jordan smiles. "Wonderful," Nick says as he looks at Gatsby who smiles as big and kind as I remember. "It was nice to meet you Nick. Jacqueline," Gatsby says as he looks at each of us before going back inside. I take a deep breath, when I see Jordan step in front of me. "It's particularly rude to lie about your name," she comments. I feel my eyes glaze over as I turn to look off the balcony. "What's upsetting you?" Nick says as he stands beside me, like Jordan. I inhale deeply through my nose and blink away the memories that overflow at my water line, straightening my posture. "I think I need to go," I answer, as I collect myself, "It's almost the early hours anyhow and I have work in the morning. Thank you for inviting me, Nick. I had fun." "Alright. You'll call me, tell me you got home safely," Nick says as he watches me walk toward the inside of the house. "Yes, I will. It was nice to meet you, Miss Baker," I say as I stop to look back at them. Jordan doesn't have much time to hear me before a server walks up to her, whispering into her ear. "To see me?" she says, surprised. I frown as I take my leave, not trying to find a reason to stay. I go past several unconscious bodies lying upon the grand piano and the cold granite floor, when I look up at the large home staircase. Gatsby stands looking at me, and I smile at him with every little bit of strength I have at the moment. He smiles back, still quite overcome with wonder as I feel him witness my leave.

The next afternoon, Nick and Jordan met me for lunch at the Secret while I'd snuck away from work. I played with my nails as I nervously told them my story.

 _I was fifteen when I first met him. He had to be at least twenty five, but with the way men in Louisiana were leaving for West Coast jobs and military work, it was a good idea for girls like me to find somebody while they had the chance. He was working alongside my father's close friend, Dan Cody. I initially saw him when he came with a gift to my father's door from Cody himself. I let him inside and I could swear it was the first kind conversation I'd had with anyone in weeks, for my sisters had gotten angry with me for telling on them to mama, and papa kept himself busy in his work shed. He and Cody were offered a place in my father's guest house, but he wanted to hear my stories more than the sunset permitted. It only took a few days to say I may have fallen for him, and I knew he felt the same. He and Cody didn't stop on our shores for long and he left by the end of the week. I remember I was so upset my father wouldn't let me say goodbye that I cried in my room the rest of the day. But upon my mother's presence for solace, she noticed he stole a family portrait off my nightstand and read me the note that said he was keeping it to remind him to come back for me. To come back...for me. After several months of my hopeful waiting, my father brought home news of Cody's death. I was upset, and wondering the fate of the man who promised his return. He never did return, and I don't think I'd ever felt a heartbreak as big as that; it was the tragic tale of first love, told in its most painful form. But I always remembered what mother had to say: "Well if he didn't come back, he's lost his mind and lost his chance!"_

"And after that, seeing him again...I was embarrassed. I thought if he remembered me it would make us bigger strangers than we'd become," I ended my story. Jordan and Nick are stuck in surprise. "Is that why you lied about your name? You were embarrassed?" Nick asked gently. I nodded as I slunk my head down into my hand. "Oh, dear," I hear Jordan mutter. "What?" I ask. "That's why he was asking about you. Last night, he asked about you right after he asked about Daisy- He's just recognized you," Jordan swallowed. "Who's Daisy?" I ask after a moment of silence. "My- my cousin. He's asked about Daisy, too? What for?" Nick asked. "Well, I can't say. But you, he's requested you sing at _all_ of his parties," Jordan said, snapping her head in my direction. I parted my lips but nodded, agreeing as I stood. "I think it's about time for me to clock in. But promise me, both of you. You won't tell him," I say hopefully. They exchange glances before Nick stands with me. "I promise," he assures me. I nod as I look at Jordan who agrees with him, taking him off to the bar. I gesture for the bartender to hand me my timecard, as I try not to catch glimpses of the slightly intense conversation between Nick and Jordan not too far away.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time I reached Gatsby's home on that following Friday night, I was a stranger all over again. New faces were here and there, celebrities still pranced from living room to pool area. I wore the same dress I had to the last party, and that's how most came to recognize me when all we had said to each other the last we crossed paths was "Hello." I stood on the terrace looking over the pool as I felt a hot tickle in my chest turn into a pounding heartbeat. I never felt like this before a set of songs. I'd gotten so used to the small of the Secret, the regulars calling me by name and smiling at me when I took their requests. This was a different crowd. A richer crowd in their element. The most I had to relate was this dress I recycled from another. "You seem nervous. You said you do this for a living?" I heard someone ask from beside me. I looked to see Gatsby, smiling at me as he seemed to lurk in the one spot for Nick or for Jordan. "It's normal to feel worried about how you'll do, isn't it?" I swallow. He drank his champagne as he looked back at me. "You'll let me know who your producer is. I'll connect you both with the finest entertainment-" "I don't have a producer...it's really just something to get by on," I tell him. I see Gatsby's bass player gesture for me to finally come to the small pedestal of a stage, and I breathe deeply. "Excuse me," I huffed as I walked down the staircase.

This wouldn't be easy with my heart jumping up my throat and not to mention I'd never considered the amount of celebrity audience I had. I refrained from jumping once the band began to play a jazz tune for me. I felt a bit of wind on my face as it seemed to travel across the Sound just cool the red of my cheeks. Once I began to sing, my eyes locked on Nick who smiled at me from the dance floor with Jordan, once things were slowing down. I smiled as I gave them a wave and my voice got a little louder. I glanced at Gatsby every now and then, who seemed to be keeping his eyes on the crowd—like he was waiting for something to happen. For someone to show... Soon I was in a full stare. I felt needy. I felt needy enough that I wanted him to notice me looking at him. But then again I was afraid of it, too.

My desperate thoughts were interrupted by a roar of applause at the end of my first set, making me jump and smile at the same time. I supposed I sang better when my mind wasn't all there. How strange. I chose to approach Gatsby, taking the chance to break through my confusing thoughts. "I think you might be the best voice of the decade, miss Jacqueline," Gatsby told me. I smiled lightly as I looked around. "You look anxious. Are you waiting for someone?" I asked. "You could say," he replied. I fiddled with the ring on my finger as I looked at him. "...You could say these parties are meant to lure them out," Gatsby continued in a daze. "...Is it a girl?" I continued to ask. He smiled at me as he took a fresh champagne from a nearby tray. "An old friend. She lives in East Egg, you see. Never meant to visit West Egg...I wonder if she still thinks of me. Parties like these—I meant for them to help me figure that out," he answered. I nodded as I looked at my feet and tried to swallow. "Are you alright?" he asked me. I brought my head back up and fixed the waist of my dress. "Why, yes. You- I- You have a small tear in the side of your coat, Mr. Gatsby," I said timidly as he looked it over. "I supposed a new one should be made-" "Let me fix it," I interrupted, "I sew, I can...make it look new, at least." Gatsby smiled and I felt my heart bounce against my diaphragm as his sky blue eyes met mine. "I'll take you up on that, I think," he said warmly. I blushed as I felt his kind gaze still on mine, and judging by the look in his eye he was trying rather hard to connect me to a familiar name.

"Nick, Old Sport," Gatsby said as Nick approached us. "Mr. Gatsby," Nick greeted. "Say, after tonight, you and miss Jacqueline should stay for a small tour. It's a nice night for it," Gatsby insisted, gesturing. I looked at Nick who seemed rather seldom. "No, that's alright, I have work," Nick hampered. I looked at Gatsby as he continually tried his best to get Nick to keep himself busy around Gatsby's home until I heard Nick say, "You know, I'll do it. No charge." I frowned at him and then at Gatsby. Gatsby seemed rather surprised. "I'll invite her to tea. You can join us," Nick sighed. "Who?" I asked him. "I don't know what you mean, Old Sport," Gatsby said innocently. "Daisy. I'll invite her to tea," Nick said, "And Jos- Jacqueline. You should attend, as well." "Fine idea. What time works for you?" Gatsby asked. "No! No, I'm not quite sure what this is about, but I don't want to interfere with your affairs-" "It's simply friends enjoying an afternoon together," Gatsby told me. "I honestly wouldn't feel right. Is this the girl you take a liking to?" I asked him. He didn't answer as he looked at Nick and Nick looked at me. "Like I said, this is your issue, I suppose," I said kindly, walking off to finish my performance for the night.

* * *

I was one of twenty guests left that night, searching for my coat among the parlors and library on Gatsby's first floor. It was in the last place I looked, tossed across the grand piano beside a sleeping woman whose husband could have been the one who frantically and drunkenly searched for his wife outside. I looked around, hoping to catch Nick on his way out, but I was easily overcome with fatigue and headed for the door. "Miss Jacqueline," I heard, "I never paid for your services." It was Gatsby. "I don't expect that much, you can have it sent to me-" "If you'd like a tour, we can get your payment done, as well," Gatsby smiled. "No! I couldn't ask you to-" "Nonsense. We have all night, and it's rather treacherous to find your way home at this time of night. Stay in one of the guest bedrooms," he offered. I quietly laughed at his relentless ways and bit my lip. "If you'll have me...I can fix your suit before I leave for work in the morning," I replied. I sensed his happiness at my agreement as he gestured for me to return inside. People still continued to filter out as he led me around his home. I was amazed by all he came into. Large beds in every room, finely chiseled chandeliers and grande ballroom with a gorgeous organ just on the balcony above it. I could tell he was excited to have this company. "Is there anyone else who lives here...?" I asked quietly. "Mr. Klipspringer. He's staying temporarily until he can find his feet. Some of my servants included," he replied with a slight sigh. I looked around. "I love it here," I said gently with a smile. I felt his eyes on me as I walked toward the giant doors leading to the outside balconies. "When I go home, it's...lonely. My family lives so far away, and... I guess small spaces can play well to your distastes," I said, playing with my hands nervously. Had I just said too much? Do I come off negative? It made me so nervous to be in the room with him, alone. There was a silence that assured we were the only two waking people in this luxurious mansion. He neared my side with a confused look on his face as he looked out over his poolside and garden areas to what was Nick's house. "Hopefully that feeling will end soon for the both of us..." he muttered.

I looked at him before I slowly looked over the same scene. I restrained a pain in my chest that wanted me to say what I was thinking. Say what I felt. Say that I waited for him every day, he didn't need to be lonely because I was his if he asked. Say I was easily sold, say I was desperately in love after a few days of seeing him again and leading him on with a fake name. Dammit, he was all I could think of. I got to pick my guest room, which of course, I picked down the hall from his. Once I was alone and I'd said goodnight, I sat down on the gorgeous lavender covers and slowly lied back. If making him happy with the little things was the closest I got to him, I gladly took that chance.


End file.
